In Foie Gras We Trust
by trilesanderrors
Summary: Miles is finally free from his father. In the months leading up to his high school graduation, his grandmother offers him early access to his trust fund, in hopes that he will use the money to live the way HE wants to live. If only Miles could figure out which way that was. ESTABLISHED TRILES
1. Chapter 1

I was never going to go to Harvard. Or Stamford. Or Banting. Or any other school that my dad would have been proud to wear a sweatshirt from as he cheered on the football team. Now, before you go making any assumptions, I'm not dumb or anything. My grades are actually pretty fucking fantastic. You know how it is, though. You make a few stupid mistakes when you're fifteen, and they haunt you forever. Yeah, early expulsion from Sweden's finest international school doesn't really look good on a college resume... Don't ask.

The thing is, my dad never quite accepted my inevitable fate. From the second I turned seventeen, he started answering every question for me, as if the two of us had the whole thing figured out.

"We've got our fingers crossed for Notre Dame or UPenn," He'd tell every dinner party guest who'd shown a contrived, obligatory interest in me and/or my future. "You know, his mother and I have always hoped the kids would go to school in The States."

If that was the case, I'd never heard mention of it. Although, having excuse to live in a different country from my parents didn't sound half bad, even if my previous experiences of living abroad had ended in disaster (ie. Sweden's finest international school. I told you not to ask!)

"Screw the Ivy Leagues!" Tristan was wickedly urging me from the moment the college conversation began. "Just come to Smithdale."

"So I can weigh you down and ruin your chances of becoming the next great Shakespearean actor?" I teased. "Not a chance."

"Miles," He whined. "That is not going to happen. You know you're just going to miss me like crazy if you don't come."

I swallowed hard, knowing he was right, but not wanting to take the conversation seriously just yet. We were sitting on the couch in my family room, college pamphlets open in our laps. I shoved my stack onto the cushions next to me, and leaned back, overwhelmed.

"Nah," I told him casually. "I've been waiting for a break from you for years."

Tristan reached out and gave me a playful shove. "You jackass!" He cackled, then quietly flipped through the pamphlet he was holding, undoubtedly looking for another blurb about Smithdale's theatre school auditions.

I rested my head on the back of the couch, and just watched. He was so focused; so determined. I hated being that guy who gets jealous of his own boyfriend, but the feeling was so overpowering, more so now than ever. Tristan knew what he wanted, and even with his playful insistence that I join him at Smithdale, I wasn't sure if what he wanted actually included me.

Tristan's eyes scanned the page for just a moment before he looked up at me again. He'd always been the type of person who could look at me and know exactly what I was thinking. Man, I hated him for that.

He lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head knowingly. "Oh, come on. It's not going to be that bad. We'll figure something out. It's us, isn't it?"

I let out a shaky breath, nodding.

"Aw, Miles. Come here…" Tristan cupped my face with his hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. "You're gonna make me cry."

It really was the uncertainty, in that particular moment in time, that got to me. I knew I had options and everything. If I couldn't get in anywhere on merit alone, my mother would get out her checkbook, and at least one admissions board was likely to start drooling, money signs appearing in their eyes. No, I wasn't worried about not getting in. I was worried about ending up somewhere where I'd be totally unhappy. I hated the pressure to make a decision, because I knew the less time I had, the more rash my decision would be. What if I decided to go to The States, and went mental without Tristan? What if I decided to follow Tristan to Smithdale, and went mental because I couldn't stand his pretentious actor friends? What if I avoided the decision for too long, missed every application deadline, and destroyed my entire future? There were just too many terrible scenarios on my mind. I could hardly process them.

And so, I laid awake every night for the entire first term of grade 12, telling myself that I would make a decision the next day. I had to make a decision the next day. I had to take action. Any kind of action.

But I didn't. I kept doing nothing. That didn't stop me from telling my dad for a month that my Dartmouth application was as good as done, and that I just needed my English teacher to finish proofing the essay that I'd secretly never shown her. I technically never lied to him. I just told him the part of the truth that I knew he wanted to hear.

I couldn't lie to Tristan, though. He and I were so beyond that.

"I'm so sick of this," I confessed to him one night. His mum was out and we were alone in his room, my head resting against his chest as we lay in bed. "This idea that I have to know right now what I want to do. High school's not even over. Can't I just enjoy the end of senior year?"

"You're not enjoying this?" Tristan asked, lightly stroking my arm.

I sighed, frustrated. "You know what I mean." Then, to reassure him, I scooted up a bit and kissed him on the cheek. "I just wish there was another option."

"Miles Hollingsworth The Third," Tristan scolded wisely. "You've never been one to put yourself in a box. If you want another option, you'll find one."

And with that, I realized he was right. I could stop worrying about which college I'd go to. If I didn't want to make a decision, I didn't actually have to. It wasn't as if I'd drop dead if the application deadlines came and went. I had free will, and I could do whatever I wanted. The problem was, my parents wanted me to go to college, and until I was twenty-five and gained access to my trust fund, they also controlled my bank account. If I were to defy their wishes, I was going to have to get creative.

* * *

"Miles, really lean in. Get your heads together."

I sighed heavily, placing my hand on Frankie's shoulder, and fitting my head into the window between her and Hunter.

"You're messing up my hair." Frankie mumbled pointedly.

"Can we just take the picture already?" Hunter snapped at both of us.

"Wow. What's crawled up your butt?" Frankie snapped back.

"We both know I'm not the one who likes stuff up his butt."

The twins often had a tendency of forgetting their surroundings, and had lost themselves in the bickering match.

"Jesus christ, Hunter," I punitively dug my nails into his shoulder. He squirmed instinctively.

"Ugh! Stop it!"

Several feet in front of us, my grandmother lowered her brand new DSL camera, clearing her throat and forcing a tight-lipped smile to assure me that she "wasn't bothered" by the butt sex comments. "Perhaps we should try again after dinner?" She asked sweetly,

"No!" Frankie and Hunter said in unison.

If we couldn't cooperate with grandmother now, she'd probably just go out and hire a professional photographer, forcing us to return to her town home in a month, wearing the same designer outfits we were wearing today. She'd have the creep physically force us into exactly the position she wanted us to be in, and take a series of pictures that she'd tell people, a decade later, were actually taken spur-of-the-moment _on_ Christmas Eve. Before the timely advent of digital photography (and my grandmother's painfully awkward social media addiction) such a scenario was an annual occurrence. None of us wanted to relive the trauma.

"I'm sorry, Grandma." I adjusted myself again, and put my head where I'd originally been asked. "Go ahead."

The three of us smiled big, goofy grins. She was practically giddy as she lifted her camera again, snapping away.

"Perfect!" She cooed. "Ugh! My little christmas angels."

Hunter stifled a cynical laugh. I dug my nails into his shoulder again, reminding him to humor her.

As she was finishing up, my Dad strolled into the parlor, his arms crossed as he passively observed the picturesque moment.

"Oh, Junior, look!" Grandma beamed down at her display screen, motioning for him to come and see. "Just like when they were kids."

With the distraction, we sprung away from each other, unable to pretend we were close for another moment.

"Oh, kids…" My grandmother scoffed shamefully. "It wasn't that bad."

"Give them a break, Mum." Dad tried. "Siblings are less affectionate than they were when you were young."

"You've raised them to be so competitive," She chastised him. "There's one constant you get in life, and that's family. What are they going to have now?"

Father looked over, sizing us up. "Their integrity, I hope… A sense of self sufficiency?" He winked at us. I could have barfed.

"You're just like your father," She said, stiffly shaking her head. Her voice broke a little at the end of the sentence. Grandpa had died from lung cancer when I was a baby, and Grandma still had trouble talking about him, especially when her words bordered on negative.

"Oh, come on," Dad said pleasantly, untouched by her. "That was exactly what you two wanted, wasn't it?"

"You were an only child." Grandma reminded him. "I had no idea what I was doing."

My father crossed his arms again, giving a careless shrug. There was no way he was going to take any of the blame for how we'd turned out. "Are we going to eat or not?"

"Miles, honey," Grandma began. It took me a moment to realize she was addressing me. There were too many other Mileses she could have been talking about. "Could you go track down your lovely mother? She snuck off to the bathroom, what? Twenty minutes ago."

I nodded compliantly, and made my way toward the parlor's entrance. As I was inching into the hall, I head my grandmother asking Dad, "You didn't upset her again, did you?"

I wouldn't have put it past him either. It was always difficult for my dad to get through a holiday without causing a stink about soiled expectations or some crap like that. They typically fought about who had embarrassed who in front of grandma. It was pretty exhausting, and to be honest, I hardly had the patience to deal with it today.

As I made my way through the foyer, and toward the town home's marble staircase, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked for texts. Tristan had driven to Guelph to see his aunt and uncle, and I'd gotten accustomed to reading the play-by-play of his adventures any time he traveled. It was a nice distraction from Hollingsworth family drama, and helped me feel like we weren't actually spending the day together.

"_Uncle Ben insisted on real tree this year. Like. What is he trying to prove?_" He'd written. Then, in another message, "_It's dangerously close to the fire place." _And another, "_Mr. Putter-the-Tabby keeps trying to climb it." _I felt an amused grin creeping onto my face. _"If it wasn't clear. Mr. Putter is a cat." _

I texted back. _"Stop, drop, and roll. Never 4get." _

He replied immediately. _"Yeah. Thanks, Bae." _

I laughed out loud, imagining him rolling his eyes sarcastically as he said it.

"Is that Tristan?"

I looked up quickly to find my mom coming out of grandmother's guest room, her eyes red and puffy. She sniffed unattractively, putting her hands on her hips, and lifting up her chin. I assumed that she thought if she tried hard enough to act confident, I wouldn't realize she'd been crying. She obviously hadn't looked in the mirror.

"Of course it is," I told her, lowering my phone.

"Okay." She nodded stupidly. "Glad he got to Guelph okay."

Over the years, Tristan had really grown on Mom. I guess he'd always impressed her with his beyond-his-years manners and wit. It was nice and all, but she always acted like her approval of him should earn her a medal or something. I refused to indulge her by discussing our relationship.

So, we just stood there for a moment, and then it slowly dawned on me that she was waiting for me to say something else, and not necessarily about Tristan. I realized she did, in fact, know that I could tell she'd been crying. She probably wanted to see if I would finally try to console her. She needed to give up. I'd been finished offering her sympathy for years. All the pain she was experiencing was pain she'd been bringing upon herself by staying with my dad. I didn't want to know what he'd done this time, and I didn't want to pretend like I was on either of their sides. I just wanted to go downstairs, eat, and get out of grandma's house as soon as we could.

"Dinner's ready," I told her bluntly.

"Oh," She said, an air of disappointment in her voice. We weren't going to have a heart to heart any time soon. I spun around quickly, and lead her back down the staircase. Her Prada heels clacked rhythmically on the marble behind me as she followed.

We arrived in the dining room to interrupt yet another instance of my father speaking on my behalf.

"…Dartmouth. You know we've always liked the idea of The States."

"Yep. You know me…" I dryly chimed in. "I've always felt like a big ole' yankee doodle deep down inside."

My father simply glared at me.

Grandma wasn't paying attention to me or my dad. Her gaze was fixed on Mom. Mom was smiling, but grandma, like me, was too smart for that. She smiled back, but there was rage in her eyes. She hated her son for ruining yet another holiday dinner by making someone feel unpleasant. Of course, she was an idiot for expecting anything else.

The salad had already been served, and Frankie and Hunter poked at their lettuce, bored. Nothing about the situation was shocking for them. I lowered myself in the seat next to Frankie, picking up my own fork.

"Bon appétit," I mumbled.

The six of us finished the rest of our meal in silence. Merry Christmas to us.

* * *

The food grandma served us was always incredible, not that she could take any credit for it herself. Her cook, Patricia, had been serving us Christmas dinner for as long as I could remember. One of the reasons we always had our feast on Christmas Eve was so Patrice would have the 25th off to spend with her family. Grandma was really considerate about things like that.

When we'd finished our final course, a traditional English pudding, Patricia shuffled out of the kitchen, eager to clear the table for us.

"Oh, no no!" Grandma scolded. "Your work is done, Pat. I know how to clear a table."

"Mrs. Hollingsworth, I…" She began. It was the same thing every year, grandma always insisted on letting her go early. She protested as a formality, but we all knew she was secretly thrilled by the request.

Grandma lifted a hand, interrupting her. "I don't want to hear it. Take the left overs you want, we'll pack up the rest."

Patricia was deeply appreciative. "Thank you, Mrs. Hollingsworth."

She rushed off, back into the kitchen.

"We'll just give her a moment," Grandma said in a hushed tone, lifting her plum-colored cloth napkin out of her lap and wiping the corners of her mouth. Then, she dropped the napkin on the table, a look of realization coming over her face. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

"What?" My Dad asked impatiently. Grandma was already standing up from the table.

"I'm going to need some help getting her present downstairs. Miles, sweetheart, would you help me."

My Dad made an annoyed noise in his throat, reluctantly taking his own napkin out of his lap.

"Not you." Grandma scolded. "The Miles with the decent attitude."

She couldn't possibly mean me, could she? I smirked, amused by the obvious joke.

"Sure, Grandma." I stood up, and followed her out of the room.

She began making small talk with me as soon as we reached the staircase. "So…" She started. "Dartmouth, eh?"

I laughed roughly. "Yeah, Dad's pretty delusional, isn't he?"

Grandma wasn't having it. "What are you talking about? You're a smart boy, aren't you?"

We reached the top of the stairs, and turned our way down the corridor, moving toward the master suite at the end of the hall. "Sure, but can you picture me at _Dartmouth_?"

She sighed thoughtfully, shaking her head. "I suppose you're right. I always pictured you in a big city… At NYU, maybe… If you're so set on The States."

I nodded quietly. Grandma lead me into her room, which was a mess. You'd never expect that level of clutter from a 76-year-old billionaire, but she'd always kept her room off-limits to her cleaning staff. It was her oasis.

A pile of wrapped gifts was stacked against one of the bedroom walls. None of them looked particularly heavy, so I wondered why she'd asked me to come with her. Then, she crossed over to two wooden rocking chairs in the corner of the room. They were dainty, and carved with incredible detail. Grandma had tied a giant bow to each of them.

Grandma stood behind them, setting her hands on the back of one. "Patricia always talked about how they had rocking chairs on the front porch of her cottage growing up…" She told me. "She and her husband just moved into a house with a great porch, and I thought… Well, you know. These are from the right period and everything."

I stared incredulously, realizing that Grandma must have spent a fortune, seeing how the chairs were actual antiques. Most people, my mother included, gave their help fruit baskets for the holidays.

"Oh, stop it," Grandma laughed, reading my mind. "Patricia has been with me for decades. She's had every opportunity to poison me, and I like to reward her for her self control. Now, will you grab one of these and help me get them down to her."

I nodded, and rushed over to her. Each of us grabbed one of the chairs, which were surprisingly light, and went back towards the bedroom's double doors.

As soon as we were moving, Grandma jumped right back to the subject of college. I'd learned that it was hard for adult relatives to stay away from.

"Miles, listen to me," She told me. "If you know Dartmouth is a bust, save yourself the headache and give up now. Your father will hate me for saying this but… well… I guess he already hates me."

"I gave up on Dartmouth months ago, Grandma." I responded honestly.

"Of course you did," She sighed, as we started carefully down the stairs. "You know, you make me so proud. Your father… he was never able to truly think for himself. Even after Miles - the first Miles, I mean - after your_ grandfather_ passed… you know, your Dad never really found himself."

We got to the bottom of the stairs. I expected Grandma to continue down the hall to the kitchen, but she stopped, turning to face me head on.

"He's got a lot of resentment, I think, and a lot of insecurities," She continued. I listened uncomfortably, not sure what to make of what she was saying. "I know, or… I've always _hoped _that somewhere deep down he truly loves your mother, and all of you kids, but then I see the way he takes his pain out on you… You have to understand that's hard for me to see that as a mother."

I nodded awkwardly.

"Oh, listen to me, rambling on…" She laughed briefly, then immediately got serious again. "What I wanted to say was… honey, you've never been like that. Your heart is so much bigger… so much _stronger_, if that makes any sense. You stand up for yourself, and even though you fight with your siblings, I've seen the way you truly love _that boy_…"

This was getting a little too sappy for me, and Grandma wasn't quite done yet.

"I just… I don't want you to become your father. It would kill me to see that happen. Not that I have many good years left…"

"Don't worry," I said confidently. "I have no plans to be anything like Dad."

She pursed her lips, nodding apprehensively for a moment. "Miles," She said when she spoke again. "…I want to give you access to your trust fund."

It took me a second to process it. "What? Wait… now?"

"Well… _soon_. When you turn eighteen. Instead of twenty-five."

I suddenly felt light headed, and contemplated setting the rocking chair I was holding down so I could sit in it. My trust fund had been set up by my grandfather when I was born. I'd never heard an actual quote, but it was my understanding that it would take care of me for life.

"I want you enter adulthood free from your father. I want you to be able to make your own choices," Grandma was still talking, but I could barely hear her. "I'll do the same for your brother and sister when the time comes."

"Oh my god…" I shook my head. "Grandma, thank you!"

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a tight hug. All I could think was that everything had changed. My world had opened up. The possibilities were endless.

I couldn't wait to tell Tristan.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the positive mojo, guys! Especially those who have recommended my fic to others :). FYI, I'm also posting this under the same title on Archive Of Our Own, so feel free to read it there if that site is easier for you for whatever reason. ENJOY.**

* * *

"Don't tell me to calm down," My father was mumbling in the front seat of his Lincoln, gripping his steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Well, what if you're right?" My mother nervously tried arguing with him. "What if she _is _just trying to get a reaction?"

I pressed my forehead against the cool window as we moved down Queen Street. I loved being out on holidays, when the city was so quiet. It was so surreally peaceful. I tried to focus on that, instead of the argument my parents were having about me.

"You expect me not to fight this!?" My dad was yelling. "She's basically given our kids permission to run around aimlessly after high school, taking no responsibility whatsoever."

My mother sighed, and shifted in her seat so that she could turn and look at us.

"Kids. You're all still going to college, right?"

"Absolutely, Mom." Frankie answered for all of us, a tight smile on her face.

"There we go!" Mom said pointedly, facing forward again. Frankie rolled her eyes, and I knew that she would have said anything to bring the argument to an end. "And now that the kids will have their own money after high school, we can start thinking about getting that place in Barcelona."

My dad practically growled. "Miles," He raised his voice, as if I hadn't already been listening. "How the hell didshe let you talk her into this?"

"Mind control," I answered dryly. "Obviously."

Hunter let out a quiet laugh.

"You're _going_ to college right away," Dad ordered me "If taking that money means you'll take some sort of bullshit gap year…"

"You know what?" I interrupted him, feeling empowered by the knowledge that everything he was saying was wrong. "Grandma's giving me that money whether you like it or not, so I don't give a crap what you think."

Suddenly, dad slammed his foot on the breaks, and the car came to a screeching halt. Thankfully, it was late and no one was on the road, or we would have been rear ended for sure. I knew immediately that my words had really gotten to him, and I felt an overwhelming sense of victory.

"Miles!" My mother screamed, at him, not me. He quickly put the car in park.

"You think you've got it all figured out?" My dad whipped his head around, straining to peek around the back of his seat to stare me down. I was directly behind him, so it wasn't easy. "You think a few bucks is gonna leave you better off? You think you'll be _happy_?"

I clenched my teeth, telling myself to just take it. Nothing he said could change anything. I just had to remember that.

"You're going to fail, Miles." He said, his voice low and mean. "You've never been able to do anything right, and all the riches in the world couldn't fix you."

We locked eyes for a long moment. The rest of the car was silent. He was waiting for me to break, but I wouldn't.

"Well." I said confidently. "If all it does is get me away from you, I guess it'll be money well spent."

With that, I dramatically undid my seat belt. I pressed the unlock button on my door, and pushed it open, stepping confidently onto the pavement.

"Miles!" My mother cried again, but to me this time.

"I can walk from here." I told them wisely, then slammed the door.

The car hesitated for only a minute before driving away. My dad didn't like his authority to be questioned, but when he left me there on the street, I realized that was the only issue at hand. He could stop lying to himself. It was obvious that he would be glad to be rid of me when the time came.

There a couple things you have to understand about Toronto. First off, it's a pretty big city, and my house wasn't exactly walking distance from Eaton Centre. Secondly, it gets cold in the winter, like anywhere else in Canada. Thirdly, it's difficult to find a cab in Toronto when you're stranded downtown at 11:30 PM on Christmas eve, but I'm sure that's the case in any North American city.

It took me about ten minutes to realize that I might actually freeze to death if I didn't seek out shelter. I started by calling a couple cab companies, whose numbers I had stored in my phone. Each one told me that they only had a couple drivers on call tonight, and that it would be over an hour before anyone was available. I opened my wallet and checked for change, hoping I could scrounge up enough for the street car or subway. As soon as I looked, I felt stupid for checking. I rarely carried cash. I used my credit card for everything.

I was going to have to beg some random pedestrian for train fare, all because I had agreed to accept my trust when I turned eighteen. The irony of the situation killed me. The worst part was, there wasn't even anyone on the street that I could ask for help. The situation was looking pretty bad.

I found a bench on the sidewalk and sat down, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

"Hey," Tristan answered softly.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, I'm just on the couch with the cats, going into a Turkey coma," He explained pleasantly. "You home from your grandma's?"

I laughed weakly. "Not exactly. I'm kind of at the mall. Outside of the mall. I have to wait an hour for a cab."

"Nanna Hollingsworth's was just too dull, then?" Tristan teased.

I sighed heavily. "It's a long story." I told him. "I'd explain, but… I don't really want to tell you over the phone."

"Oh…" He sounded nervous.

"Hey. It's not a bad thing, okay?" I assured him, shivering harder now. "You'll be happy about it."

"The suspense is killing me." He replied charmingly.

"I just hope I don't freeze to death before we get the chance to talk."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!"

I laughed. "Well, in case I do die, I just wanted to tell you I love you, and merry Christmas."

Tristan's voice softened. "I love you too, Miles."

I took a deep breath, feeling infinitely warmed by the sound of his voice saying those words.

"And Miles…?" He continued.

"Mhmm…"

"Find a bar to wait in. Or a church. They're everywhere. You know, there will be midnight masses tonight. You're _not _going freeze."

"Thanks, Tris." I told him, thankful that he was smarter than I was at this particular moment in time.

"That's what I'm here for."

After we hung up, I started walking. After about two blocks, I came across a Methodist church, and sure enough, the place was as alive as ever. I shoved my numb hands into my coat pockets, and made my way to the building. As I entered the church lobby, I began fumbling with my phone again, so that I would have a cab waiting for me when the service let out. Tristan really was a genius.

Before I could dial, though, I was interrupted.

"Miles?"

I looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore, our neighbors, coming towards me with goofy grins on their faces.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Gilmore was cooing. She reached out and hugged me before I could protest. "Are your parents here?"

The question was laughable. My parents were the most godless people in Canada. "No," I joked. "They only celebrate the pagan elements of the holiday."

Mr. Gilmore's smile wavered. "Oh… um…"

Mrs. Gilmore interrupted before her husband could say something offensive. "You're here alone then? Well, you'll have to sit with us."

"Of course," I used every ounce of my energy to keep from laughing. The two of them were beaming, thoroughly convinced that I was some precious child who had been saved by god's love in spite of the resistance of my parents. A week ago, they just saw me as some annoying teenager who threw wild parties and played my music too loud. Tonight, they had nothing but admiration for me. Religion was weird.

The two of them began leading me toward the chapel, but I stopped them to ask one last question. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. "Hey. Do you think I could get a ride home after this?"

* * *

There were times I wondered if I'd ever really experienced Christmas morning the way other kids experienced it. I'd never believed in Santa, and I wasn't sure the twins had either. Even though Mom and Dad had playfully thrown his name around every now and then, they'd never made any legitimate effort to maintain the illusion. It was always painfully clear that they still expected recognition for the expensive gifts they'd picked out for us. To be honest, receiving presents from our parents wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They showered us with new things all year round. Past the age of six or seven, the addition of shiny paper and a tree lost its novelty.

This year, I barely got through the exchanging of gifts. Sure, on some level, I felt very fortunate to be adding five new designer sweaters to my collection, but tensions were still high after the previous night's drama, which kind of soured the mood. My father could barely look me in the eye. I couldn't stand to wait any longer to see Tristan. His mom had to work Boxing Day, so they were coming back to the city after an early Christmas lunch with his uncle. I knew time was going to move very slowly until then.

Once all of our presents were open, I quietly thanked my mom, giving her an obligatory kiss on the cheek, then gathered my loot in my arms and made my way up to my room. There, I dropped everything in a pile in the corner, and fell back into bed. I hadn't yet changed out of my pajamas, so I was perfectly equipped for a nap. I was still exhausted from last night's adventure, and I knew that sleep would be a good way to occupy myself.

I slept for a few hours, until I was awoken by the sound of my text notification. I sat up with a start, and smacked around for my mattress, trying to figure out where I'd put it. I finally lifted up my pillow and found it.

Tristan had written, _"Pulling in at home. Heading over there ASAP!" _

My stomach did a somersault, but in the best way possible. I quickly slid out of bed, and started gathering clothes to change into: a pair of jeans, underwear, one of my new sweaters (hey, I knew it was clean!) Then, I ran into the bathroom to take the world's fastest shower.

Once I was bathed and clothed, I checked my phone again. _"On My Way!" _

I was beaming with excitement. You would have thought it had been a year since I'd seen him, rather than two days. To be fair, with the night I'd had, it had felt more like a year. I rubbed mousse into my hair and ran a comb through it, then sprayed myself with my favorite Ralph Lauren cologne. I was giving myself a final once-over in the mirror when my phone went off again. _"Here!" _

I burst out of my room, and down the hallway. I took the stairs two at a time, and nearly wiped out on the marble floors at the bottom. I tore through the family room, attracting quizzical stares from my mother and sister, who were watching _It's A Wonderful Life _on the big screen. Finally, I was in the courtyard, where Tristan was waiting for me in his simple black pea coat. I, however, had forgotten to wear a coat… or shoes for that matter.

"For someone so worried about freezing…" Tristan started. I threw myself into his arms before he could finish, burying my face into the nape of his neck. He slowly hugged back, one hand lightly stroking the back of my hair. "Wow. I should go to the suburbs more often."

We pulled apart, and kissed lightly. Then again, harder; desperate to feel close again after our time a apart. When we were done, he leaned away from me, and looked down at me feet, his brow furrowed. "You know, we really should go inside before your feet fall off."

I looked down, laughing. I was, in fact, beginning to lose the feeling in my toes. I took him by the hand, and started pulling him back toward the house. This time, I took him to the other side of the courtyard and through the kitchen entrance, or "the service entrance," as my dad so affectionately referred to it. My parents had never tried to keep Tristan out of my room, so it wasn't as if I was trying to sneak him up there. I just didn't want to put him through another round of invasive small talk, which would be inevitable if they saw him.

"So, I could barely sleep last night, knowing you had some big news to tell me," Tristan told me as we climbed up the back staircase.

"Ah, yes," I sighed, pretending like I had forgotten. "The _news._"

"Stop!" He laughed. "You're not seriously going to string me along like this."

I shrugged coyly, as we approached the door to my room. "Like what…?"

"Miles, I swear. If it's another present… I already feel crappy enough."

We had exchanged our Christmas gifts before he'd left. I'd gotten him a vintage pocket watch, a Tommy Hilfiger cardigan, and a few DVDs of rare musicals for his collection. He gave me a bunch of framed photos of us, baked me three kinds of christmas cookies, and wrote me a letter that managed to simultaneously be the hottest and most heartwarming thing I had ever read. His gifts were far superior to mine, but I could tell he felt insecure about not being able to spend as much as I did.

"Come on, Tris," I told him, as we entered my room and closed the door behind us. "I'd have to give you a thousand more presents to properly match the level of awesome you achieved with yours."

"Well, if you're gonna spend the money anyway, I'd rather have cash…" Tristan sighed playfully.

I laughed roughly, and gave him a playful shove. He grinned, and sat down at the end of my bed, kicking off his boots. "That could be arranged, actually."

"Stop!" He insisted. "You make me feel like such a _whore_."

I sat down next to him, and gave him another kiss. "At least you're a cute whore."

He frowned dramatically. "You're killing me." I laughed again, and he couldn't help but crack a smile. "Well, if it's not another present, then what is it?"

It's been thinking how I wanted to lead with since Grandma gave me the news last night. I cleared my throat, ready to _really_ deliver this.

"How would you like to go back to Paris this summer?" I asked him. "I was thinking we'd start there, spend a few weeks in a little flat, and then depending on where our whims carry us, we can go other places too."

Tristan was smiling, but there was confusion in his eyes. "What other places?"

"I don't know! Spain. Switzerland. Germany. Anywhere we want."

He shook his head. "Your parents would never pay for that. Would they?"

My cheeks hurt, I was smiling so hard. "They don't have to."

"Miles…" He warned, in case I was screwing with him.

I couldn't contain myself. "I'm getting my trust money. My inheritance, really… from my grandpa. My grandma wants me to have it now. I mean, in January. When I turn 18."

Tristan was practically speechless. "That's…"

"Incredible?" I finished for him. "Insane? All of the above?"

"Miles… how much money are we talking about here?"

"I could be wrong… But my grandma's always said…" I hesitated. This moment felt surreal. I'd never said the number out loud. "It's ten percent of everything he had…" Tristan stared blankly at me. He didn't know what that meant. Even I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. "Tristan… he was a _billionaire_…"

Tristan's eyes widened. "I'm gonna barf." He said breathily, shaking his head at the floor. "I'm in love with a man who's worth more than _ten_ of my house…"

I patted him on the back. "I'll give you a minute to process this."

"What does this mean?" He continued. "What do you even _do _with a tenth of a billion dollars?"

"I have no freaking idea." I laughed. "That's why I thought we'd just start with Paris."

Tristan didn't know what else to say, so he just leaned forward and kissed me again. "No more expensive presents though. I mean, I'll totally let you pay for Paris because, _hello_, what kind of dummy would pass that up. But… no more presents. Promise?"

"Promise."

Although I wasn't completely sure I'd be able to keep it. He was just too much fun to spoil.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sign here…. and here…. and one last line _here_… Congratulations, Mr. Hollingsworth, you are officially richer than I will ever be."

January 19th had come quicker than I would have expected it too. Tristan and I had had a quiet New Year, and before we knew it, we were back at school, embarking on the final half of our final year of high school. The strangeness of that alone was enough to distract me from the anticipation of my 18th birthday.

My alarm woke me up at six-thirty. I got dressed quietly, and made my way outside, desperately hoping I wouldn't get caught. My parents didn't know the details of Grandma and I's plans. They didn't know that she had made a crack-of-dawn appointment with her financial planner, and was picking me up in her town car so that we could be at the bank before school started. I'm sure that they were expecting me to pull something like that, and I'm sure that they weren't planning any alternative morning birthday celebration. I was convinced that they'd avoid my birthday all together this year, because they were, you know, still bitter about my upcoming independence.

I lowered the fountain pen that my grandma had fished out of her purse for the signing. I would have been fine if we'd signed all the papers with a regular ball point, but she'd insisted on using something "grandpa would have written with."

"Your entire life is about to change," She told me, extending the pen to me with a coy smile on her face. "If you're so informal about signing those papers, I'm going to think you don't appreciate this moment at all."

And so I took the fountain pen, and as I held it between my fingers, as I let it glide across the page as I signed my name, I realized it felt right. Even though I had never really known my grandpa, it felt _right _to be doing this exactly how he would have wanted me to do it. It made the moment more intense, and as I set that pen down, I experienced a powerful wave of emotion. I truly was free.

We shook the banker's hand on our way out. Then, as Grandma buttoned up her coat, she said, "And now, you're going to buy me breakfast."

"Sure thing, Grandma." I chuckled. It felt like the least I could do, seeing how she'd just given me access to millions of dollars.

We went to an upscale place near her house, where we indulged ourselves with forty dollar quiche and virgin mimosas. Grandma called Degrassi and told the front desk receptionist that he grandson would be late for school because he'd just become a millionaire. It was the perfect way to celebrate.

"Thank you, Grandma." I said to her, as the waitress handed me the bill. Even though I'd thanked her a dozen times already since Christmas, I never felt done. "Thank you for trusting me, I guess."

"Miles, you're going to live quite the life. I'm just glad I'm still around to watch you live it." She patted me lovingly on the arm, then grabbed the check.

"I thought I was getting it!" I said defensively.

"You can hardly afford it," She teased, reaching for her purse. "You only got ten percent of his wealth. I got fifty."

"Touché, Grandma…" I laughed out loud. "Touché indeed."

* * *

I got to school during fourth period, right before lunch. It felt weird, like going to school on a Saturday. Grandma had told me I didn't have to go, insisting that no child should ever have to go to school on their birthday, and although I knew wouldn't be able to concentrate in any of my classes, I realized I didn't want to miss seeing my friends.

That being said, there didn't seem to be a point to going to just half of calc, so I went to the library after Grandma dropped me off to kill time until Tristan got out of English. Zoe had her spare period then, and I knew she would be there doing homework.

"Mornin', Zo!" I said casually, pulling my messenger bag off of my shoulder and slinging it over the back of a chair.

She glanced up from the assignment she was working on, bored. "Morning," She sighed uncaringly, then went back to her work.

Zoe and I had spent a decent amount of time together since Tristan and I had gotten together sophomore year. She always put on a really neutral face, pretending like she could care less about whether I lived or died. Tristan and I had decided she was still bitter that I'd ended up with him after she'd tried so hard. Surprisingly, Maya had been the first one to be okay with everything. Zoe just didn't give up her pride so easily.

Deep down, though, Zoe was Tristan's friend, and I was Tristan's boyfriend, and through default, we were kind of friends.

"…What are you working on?" I asked conversationally, lowering myself into my chair.

"Psych."

"Oh. Cool…" I said. She didn't say anything else. Okay, maybe we weren't really _friends _friends.

"You finish the physics lab?"

She smirked, and looked up at me. "He's not in class, you know?"

"…What?"

"Tristan. He's in the prop room, practicing for his audition tonight."

"For what?" I felt my cheeks heat up a bit, panicked at the thought that I'd missed something important in Tristan's life. He would never forget to mention an audition to me.

"Hello… The play…?" Zoe said rudely. "Seriously, Miles? He's been talking about this for weeks."

I was hurt. "Not to me!"

"You want my advice," She smirked smartly. "Go to the prop room, and pretend like you've known what was going on this entire time."

I nodded, quickly getting up and grabbing my bag. As I was rushing away, she called after me, "Happy Birthday, by the way!"

I rushed to the prop room, pushing the door open to find Tristan pacing through the aisles of junk, muttering something to himself.

"Hey," I said confidently. Tristan looked up with a start. "Do you want me to help you run lines?"

He looked confused. "No… I was just doing my English reading." He said defensively.

Then I realized: he had deliberately not told me about his audition.

"Tris… What's going on?" I gently demanded. "Zoe said auditions for the play are tonight."

Tristan sighed heavily. The jig was up. "I didn't want to tell you," He admitted. "It's your birthday. You just, like, became a _millionaire_. Today wasn't supposed to be about me."

I laughed weakly. "That's ridiculous, okay? Let me help you run lines."

He hesitated, smiling softly, then held his script out to me.

"_The Crucible_…" I read the cover out loud as I took it from him.

"Yeah." He laughed nervously. "Some pretty heavy stuff. I think Zoe's a shoe-in for the Winona Ryder part…"

"And you?"

"Daniel Day Lewis…?" He admitted timidly.

I nodded, flipping through the pages. "Thankfully, drama club's not one to type cast, right? Didn't you say you played Juliet in grade nine?"

Tristan groaned. "Yeah. Because I wasn't manly enough to play Romeo."

He turned away from me and plopped down on one of the prop room's couches, clearly distraught. I sighed, and walked up behind him. I set the script on the cushion next to him, and instinctively started massaging his shoulders.

"You know that's not what I meant," I said lightly. "You'll make a great Daniel Day-Lewis."

"Mhmm…" He hummed, clearly not convinced. I took my hands away, and walked around to the front of the couch, sitting down next to him. I wasn't sure what else to say, so I put my hand on top of his, playing with his fingers a bit, waiting for him to talk.

"So… is it done, then?" He asked. I realized after a split second that he'd changed the subject. "You, like, signed everything?"

I took a deep breath. Still wasn't fully able to process the reality of the situation. "Um…yeah…"

Tristan nodded. It was a supportive nod. Nothing about the way he was looking at me suggested that he was terribly excited about the fact that I had money now. As he turned his hand to face upward, weaving his fingers in with mine, I felt completely secure in the fact that he truly loved me for me, not that I'd had many doubts before.

"I love you." I told him.

He grinned smugly. "You're not so bad yourself."

I laughed as he leaned in to kiss me gently. "Happy birthday." He said as we pulled apart. "Have I said that yet?"

I smirked, "Like you don't remember calling me at midnight _just _as I was about to fall asleep."

He shrugged. "Hey. I'm your boyfriend. It's my job."

I laughed. "Come here," We kissed again, for longer this time.

"I really do want to help you practice for your audition," I breathed.

Tristan shook his head, a dark, seductive look in his eyes. "Later."

I chuckled, and went back in for more.

* * *

That day, after school, I stood at the back of the gym as Tristan read his monologue for the director: this grade eleven named Dillon who I'd never spoken to before in my life. He was this skinny redhead who wore thick plastic glasses and a jean jacket with patches. I watched him carefully as he watched Tristan take the stage, and decided immediately that I didn't like him. The way he sat behind his little table, his hand on his chin as if he was contemplatively stroking some invisible beard, rubbed me the wrong way. I was good at reading body language, and I could just tell this guy was a jerk.

Tristan pasted on a smile as he went to the center of the stage. If he disliked this guy as much as I already did, he wasn't allowed to show it.

"Whenever you're ready," Dillon said.

And then, Tristan bowed his head, taking a deep breath. When he looked up, he was completely transformed. He _was_ John Proctor. I felt the hairs on my arms stick up, enchanted by the magic he was making. He performed perfectly, delivering every line completely organically. By the time he was done, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I was so proud to call him my boyfriend.

However, Dillon wasn't smiling. He nodded apathetically, writing something down in his notebook. "Thank you…"

Tristan kept his smile on, but his eyes were filled with disappointment. I could tell he was hoping for more immediate praise.

"No, thank _you_," He said weakly, then climbed down toward the stage, quickly approaching me. I put and arm around him as I guided him out of the auditorium.

"Tris, that was awesome." I told him.

But I could tell he didn't believe me. It took a lot of self restraint not to march up to this Dillon kid and give him a piece of my mind.

"Whatever," Tristan mumbled, as we emerged into the hallway. "There's nothing we can do now but wait. A lot of directors keep a poker face, anyway."

Suddenly, my phone went off. I pulled it out of my pocket, and read the quick text, from my mom:_"What time will you be home? Just picked up your cake." _

I guess my parents weren't going to avoid my birthday after all. 

"Well, I'm sure cake from the finest bakery in Toronto will distract you from the grueling anticipation," I teased.

Tristan laughed. "Another awkward Hollingsworth dinner party?" He cooed. "I'm so in."

"Do you think I could get away with blowing it off?" I asked sheepishly.

He put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. "Look, as much as I was hoping I could use tonight to spoil you, it wouldn't be right of me to steal you from your parents entirely."

I sighed heavily. I knew he was right, but all I wanted was to be alone with him, to talk about the future; to talk about Paris. Now that his audition was over, we would really be able to focus. I didn't have the patience for my parents right now.

"Hey," He grabbed me by the shoulders, and looked me square in the eye. "It's gonna be a good night, I promise." He gave me a light kiss.

"I know."

* * *

Tristan gently held onto my arm as we made our way through the courtyard. The fact that he was there was making it easier that I was going to have to spend time with my parents tonight.

"So, they know, right?" Tristan said uneasily. "I mean, I know you said your grandma took you this morning. Your parents know that you really made it official?"

I laughed cynically. "I mean, I didn't try to keep it a secret…"

As we approached the door, we could hear my parents voices coming from inside. It took me a second to realize that they were arguing.

"Of course…" I told Tristan. "It wouldn't be a celebration without drama."

"So what do you plan on doing?" My mother was wailing. "You're just gonna leave it on the side of the road in front of our house?"

"Do you have a better idea?" My dad shouted back at her.

"Yeah. Put it back. It's _his_ stuff, Miles!" There was a hint of laughter in her voice, to show him he was being completely ridiculous. I let go of Tristan and stepped closer to the glass doors, hoping to figure out what they were talking about.

"Well, he can buy his own stuff now, can't he?" My dad hissed. My stomach dropped, as I suddenly realized exactly what they were talking about.

I burst into the living room. My dad was standing in the middle of the room, holding my macbook in one hand.

"What the hell!?" I yelled. "What are you doing?"

My mother massaged her forehead. "He's not doing anything. Happy Birthday, sweetie."

"Dad," I urged, my voice shaking. "Why do you have my computer?"

I heard Tristan entering behind me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Even though he and I didn't have any secrets, it was still humiliating when he witnessed such powerful examples of Hollingsworth family dysfunction.

"_Your _computer?" My dad laughed. "I'm sorry. Did _you_ dish out fifteen _hundred_ dollars for this?" He was waving it carelessly in the air. "I've paid for everything you own." He lowered the laptop, then tossed it carelessly onto the couch. "You have _nothing_."

"This couldn't have waited until tomorrow…" My mother mumbled, gripping the back of the couch as if she was about to collapse from exhaustion.

"Why wait until tomorrow?" My dad laughed. "He has his money _today_! …So, Miles," He smirked wickedly at me. "Why don't you go out and get a nice suite at the Hilton. You don't need to be here anymore, do you?"

My heart was pounding. I'd known my father wasn't cool with me taking the money, but I wasn't expecting _this, _of all things. Was he throwing me out? Was he expecting me to put my own life together overnight? I mean, in a way, he was right. That was exactly what I was asking for. When faced with it so suddenly, though, I was paralyzed with fear. I could hardly argue with him.

"Dad, I…" I stammered, not sure what I should say. Then, my Mom spoke for me.

"It's his _birthday._" She snapped, her voice low and authoritative. "He's sleeping here. In _his _bed."

Her tone must have scared him, at least slightly, because he calmed down. He watched me for a minute, his eyes narrowed, his breathing heavy. Then, he pointed a finger at me, said, "One night. Then, you're gone," then stormed out of the room.

Tristan, Mom and I were quiet for a long moment. Tristan came up behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"There's food waiting for us in the dining room…" Mom said quietly. "Your brother and sister… I just called for them, so they should be down any minute…"

I couldn't look her in the eye.

"Miles…" She said, her voice getting quieter. "You're welcome here for as long as you'd like to stay. You know that, right?"

I looked over at my computer, which was still on the couch. I realized that my Dad was right. It had never really been mine. None of this had been. "No. It's fine." Tristan's hand slowly slid off my shoulder. I could tell he was surprised that I was backing down so easily. "I'll be out tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

My hands were sweaty as I pulled my wallet out of the pockets of my jeans, so much so that it took a couple tries to pull my credit card out. I tiredly handed it to the guy behind the desk in the hotel lobby. As he swiped it, I turned to Tristan, who was standing behind me with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked into my eyes, giving a sympathetic frown. He took a step closer to me, placing his hand on my lower back.

"Here you go, Mr. Hollingsworth," The guy handed me my card, along with a set of room keys. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

"Thank you," Tristan told him pleasantly. I forced a smile of agreement.

We'd ended up at the Park Hyatt. I'd thought of it because we'd stayed their a few nights when I was a kid, and my mom was getting our floors redone. I'd never forgotten how good the room service was, and automatically thought of it when searching for a place to regroup. While I knew my grandmother would have happily put me up if I'd asked her too, what right did I have to be a burden on her when she'd just given me every reason not to be a burden on anybody. Besides, Grandma would have never let Tristan sleep over. It wasn't that she wasn't supportive of us, she was just old fashioned in a different sense. It wouldn't have been any different if Frankie had asked if Winston could spend the night. I respected her rules, but it was my birthday, and given the day's traumatic events, I couldn't bring myself to sleep alone. Luckily, Tristan's parents weren't the type to keep tabs on him. He could stay with me all night at the hotel, and nobody would notice or mind.

Tristan guided me down the long hallway, our sneakers squeaking on the marble floors. On any other occasion, we would be absolutely giddy to be approaching a nice, private hotel room. We would be goofing off, giggling like children. Tonight, both of us were quiet and somber, barely saying a word as we got into the elevator.

As we rode up to the fifth floor, Tristan linked his arm through mine and rested his chin on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, legitimately comforted by the fact that he was close to me.

"I love you," He whispered, then lightly kissed the side of my face, near my jawline. A wave of emotion came over me, and I felt my lower lip tremble. Tristan noticed immediately, and held onto my arm more tightly.

"Hey…" He said gently. "It's going to be okay."

I knew he was right. How could it not be okay? It wasn't like I was going to drop dead if my father wasn't talking to me. It's not like we'd had a great relationship anyway. What was I really giving up?

But as we entered the hotel room, I realized what I was giving up. I flashed back to the day I moved into my dorm at the International school. It had been such a cold and uninviting space… _lifeless_ in a way. Completely void of personality. That's how the hotel room felt. It didn't really belong to anyone. Even if I spent every night of my life here, it would never belong to me. It wasn't the room I'd spent eighteen years of my life making my own.

Tristan strolled over to the king-sized bed, setting his backpack on top of it.

"It's nice," He said half-heartedly, looking around at the simplistic decorations. He looked back at me, quickly picking up on my dissatisfaction. "…And _temporary_."

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll hit up one of my grandma's bored-housewife-turned-realtor friends in the morning."

I followed him to the bed, wrapping my arms around him from behind, and burying my face in the back of his neck. He brought his hands up and placed them on my arms, holding them in place. After a moment of me leaning into him, he gently grabbed my wrists, removing himself from my grip, and turning around to face me. He frowned thoughtfully, quietly touching his palm to my cheek. Then, he kissed me lightly.

"What can I do?" He asked me. "I mean. What do you want us to do tonight? It's still early, and it's _still _your birthday."

"Honestly?" I told him after I'd had a second to think about it. "I just want a grilled cheese sandwich."

He grinned adorably at me, grabbing my shoulders. "Then a grilled cheese sandwich you shall get."

I bowed my head, smiling sadly. "Thanks, Tris."

"Don't mention it," He kissed me on the top of the head, then pulled me into a tight bear hug. It was the type of secure hold that made me feel like he wanted to be attached to me forever. Nothing in the world made me feel safer.

* * *

We got room service delivered, and turned on Nick at Nite, watching stupid _Full House _reruns while we ate. Once the food was gone, we brushed the crumbs off the duvet and climbed underneath it. Tristan took me in his arms, and we fell asleep like that. Neither of us was in the mood to do anything more.

I must have been sleeping more deeply than I thought, because I didn't feel him get out of bed. When I woke up around 6:30 the next morning, he was sitting at the room's desk, his knees pulled to his chest, looking at something on his phone. As far as I knew, he had been there for a while. His brow was furrowed intensely, and I was immediately concerned.

"Is everything alright?" I said groggily, propping myself up on my elbows.

Tristan nearly jumped out of his skin. He set his phone down on the desk, and quickly crossed back to the bed.

"Yeah. It's fine." He laid beside me and ran his hand through my hair. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

There was a sort of tension to his voice, though. I knew him better than to let it go. "Tris, come on…"

"Miles, I told you." He sounded frustrated. "I'm not what matters right now."

Suddenly, I knew what was going on. "You found out about the play."

He hesitated. "I'm Reverend Hale. It's a good part, but…"

I grabbed his hand. "…It's not the part you wanted."

"Is it totally ridiculous that I care?"

"No. Not at all," I told him. I could tell by the sheepish look on his face that he felt bad that we were talking about the play. Honestly, though, I wanted to hear about his problems. I wanted him to focus on his life, so I didn't feel like such a burden for having so many issues of my own. "Look, do you want me to…"

"Beat Dillon up?" He rolled his eyes, smirking. "Don't even think about it."

He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. I smiled into it.

"Besides," He went on. "I've dealt with this kind of disappointment before. The only way to deal with it is to own the opportunities you do get."

I nodded. "You're gonna be fantastic."

We kissed again, for a while longer this time. Tristan squirmed on the bed a bit so that he was lying more comfortably next to me.

"When do rehearsals start?" I asked him once we'd pulled away from one another.

Tristan's face scrunched up regretfully. "Tonight…?" He said, as if he was asking my permission.

"Awesome." I reassured him.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked me, running his hand along my arm.

"What, spending a couple hours by myself? I think I'll manage."

He still looked concerned. "It's just…"

"Tristan, I'm a big boy," I told him. "I need to go back to the house anyway after school and grab some stuff I forgot. It'll actually be easier if I'm alone, and do it ask quietly as possible."

He nodded. "Okay. And then we'll meet back here for dinner?"

"Absolutely," I grinned. I realized I kind of liked playing house with him.

"Alright. Now get out of bed," He gave me a playful shove. "You were already late for school once this week."

As he slid off the mattress, making his way to the bathroom, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow. I had forgotten about school.

* * *

Fortunately, I made it through the day. As expected, however, I retained zero percent of the knowledge that I was supposed to retain.

I called grandma during my study hall.

"I don't know if you've heard," I told her. "But I'm looking for a place."

"I didn't hear," She sighed. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

"Yeah, well, you know people who can help." I reminded her. "I want to give them my business."

"Respectable." She approved. "I'll set something up for this weekend.

"Thanks, Grandma!" I was truly thrilled to have her an as ally.

"Hey… Miles?" She spoke up again, before I could end the conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Your father will come around. Give him time."

I didn't quite believe her, but I didn't want to think about it, or talk about it anymore. "Thanks, Grandma."

"I'll call you later this week. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

After that conversation, I felt like I had an important task checked off my list. One step at a time, I was going to be okay. All that was left was going home after school to get my things.

I didn't want much from the house. Tristan and I had grabbed most of the important stuff before we'd left the night before. It was basically everything that reminded me of him, and nothing that reminded me of my parents.

Most of my things were replaceable, and it really didn't matter if my dad got rid of them. However, my life would be a lot easier if I didn't have to go on an emergency shopping trip to replenish my entire wardrobe. I liked the clothes I had, and I thought I could sneak in before my dad got home from work, and take a few of my favorite things.

I thought wrong. When I got to the house, I went to put my key in the front door, and found that it no longer worked.

In the twenty-four hours since he had thrown me out, my dad had gotten the locks changed. _Son of a bitch._

I was hit by an instant wave of anger as I backed away from the door. My heart was pounding. I felt light headed. It was one thing to ask me to move out, but to actually change the locks was an even lower blow. I couldn't believe I hadn't realized that he could take things one step further. Was he trying to cut me out of the family completely?

Thinking quickly, I rushed next door, to the Gilmores' house. Mom had always had them keep a spare key, for emergencies. I climbed up to their stoop and leaned on the doorbell. After several agonizing moments, Mrs. Gilmore answered the door, her face lighting up when she saw me.

"Miles!" She beamed. "How _are_ you!?"

"Not great," I said quickly. "Look, do you know anything about the new locks on my house?"

"Oh, of course," She said nonchalantly. "Your mother was here around noon. She said Hunter lost his keys at lacrosse practice, and they wanted to take precaution…?"

The way she said it, I could tell she was assuming I already knew the reason, and was merely confirming for the sake of conversation.

"Yeah." I said dryly. "That was it."

"I think she was expecting to pick you up at school," Mrs. Gilmore told me, killing me with her obliviousness. "Otherwise, I'm sure she would have gotten you a key before you came home."

"You have a spare key, though," I asked impatiently. "Don't you?"

She shook her head apologetically. "Your mother was sending Marcela to the hardware store to get copies made…"

I looked back over to my house, frustrated. Marcela was our housekeeper, and her car wasn't in the driveway either.

"You're welcome to wait here until one of them gets home. Really, it should be any minute."

"Thanks," I said, stepping through the doorway. I knew waiting for my mom was the best option here. I needed to give her a piece of my mind.

I was barely over the threshold before Mrs. Gilmore began interrogating me.

"So, we haven't seen you at services…"

"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Since Christmas eve!"

I realized she was talking about church. "Oh. Yeah…"

I walked into the house, the layout of which was similar to ours if not identical. I stood in front of the large window in their foyer, where I had a clear view of our driveway. I needed to be ready to pounce when my mom got home.

"You know, you're welcome to come with us again…" She suggested warmly. I couldn't believe she was still on this. "Any time you want. Just pop on over here around 9 on Sunday."

Without even turning to look at her, I said the only thing I could think of to shut her up: "Can I bring my boyfriend?"

"…Pardon?" Her voice broke again as she said it. She must have thought she heard me wrong.

I kept my eyes on the window, silent.

"Um…" She hesitated. I could tell she didn't want to repeat what I'd said, just in case she'd heard me wrong. "Why don't I make us some tea?"

Before she could leave the room, though, I saw a familiar SUV coming up the street. Marcela.

"Thanks for everything, Ms. G," I said wryly, patting her on the shoulder. Then, I left as quickly as I could.

"Hey!" I shouted at Marcela as I ran across the lawn. She pretended not to hear me as she gathered a couple of grocery bags from the trunk. "Marcela! I know you can hear me."

She shook her head, slamming the trunk, and starting up the driveway.

"Damn it," I muttered to myself, and broke into a sprint so I could beat her to the door. She kept her head bowed, walking briskly, like she had a chance of beating me. Spoiler alert: she didn't.

I threw myself up against the door, sprawled out as if I'd chained myself to it. She merely sighed impatiently.

"Miles…" She said sternly. "These are heavy."

Marcela wasn't young, but she wasn't old. She was maybe in her late-thirties, and she'd only been with us since I'd moved back from boarding school. It wasn't as if she was this cherished staff member who'd raised me. I had no problem disregarding her as an authority figure.

"Give me one of those new keys, and I'll let you go inside." I negotiated.

She blinked at me, bored. "Your father's pissed off."

"I don't care. Give me the key."

"He told me not to let you steal anything else from him."

"Oh my god." I was genuinely disgusted that he'd gotten her involved.

"Miles," She continued, a bit more gently. She sounded vaguely apologetic. "He said you walked of with four hundred dollars worth of stuff last night. Now, I know there must be more to the story, but you're not the one who pays me. Frankly, there's nothing I can do here… Now, please move."

I didn't. "What time is my mom getting home?"

"Later."

"Well, would you just let me wait here and talk to her?" I pleaded. Then, desperately searching my mind for a compromise, I suggested: "Let me wait in the pool house. I promise I won't steal the towels."

She bit her lip, contemplating. She shifted her arms a bit to redistribute the weight of her bags. I could tell she would have done anything at that point to be able to put them down.

"Fine," She said, starting down the stoop so we could go around the outside of the house. "But if anyone asked, you threatened my life."

I waited in the pool house for the better part of an hour. I was too restless to sit, so I just paced back and forth, knowing Marcela would send my mom in when she got home. Sure enough, I was eventually greeted by a soft knocking on the door.

I froze. Before I could answer, my mother had entered. She looked nervous, and tired, like she'd been up all night worrying about me. Either that, or she was putting on that face so I'd feel sorry for her, and decide she was a decent person.

"Miles…" She said breathily, frowning and shaking her head. "Listen, I…"

I interrupted. "I don't want to hear it! The _locks_!? _Really!?_"

"Honey," She clasped both hands to her chest. "I am powerless here."

"No!" I pointed at her. "I am sick of that excuse. You're no better than he is."

She stared at her feet, shaking her head. "Your father just wants you to grow up right. He's giving you a nudge that he thinks you need. We discussed this, and…"

"…And you agree with him." Perfect.

"I don't want to pick sides."

"Hate to break it to you," I scoffed. "But you kind of have. You know, I don't care if I can't live here. I'm looking for my own place, and I'm going to be fine. And I don't really care if I see you, but you should know that if you don't see me under this roof, you're not going to see me at all. Are you really okay with that? Are you okay with shutting me out completely?"

She finally looked up at me again, her mouth downturned in a dark pout. Her lip began to quiver, and I could see her eyes clouding up. I felt a powerful rush of victory. I couldn't quite explain it, and I would probably regret the feeling later, but in that moment, it felt so good to see her cry.

"Miles…" She tried hoarsely. I realized there was nothing either of us had left to say.

I threw my arms up, heading toward the door. "I'm over it, Mom." I huffed.

"Miles!" She cried after me, scrambling to find her voice again.

"I'm done!" And with that, I walked out of the pool house, slamming the door behind me.

* * *

I returned to the hotel nearly an hour before Tristan did. I sat down at the desk, and pulled out my history homework, knowing that, at some point, I would have to start caring about school again. I was fooling myself, though, to think today would be the day that would happen.

I heard Tristan scuffling around in the hall at about 5:30. I sprung out of my chair, and went to meet him as he came through the door.

"Honey, I'm home," He said adorably, giving me a very domestic kiss. I felt like a 1950s housewife, and I kind of liked it. "How'd everything go today? Did you get your stuff."

I shook my head, embarrassed. "But hey," I added quickly, trying to keep the mood light. "All I really need is you."

Tristan laughed tauntingly. "Oh god, you are such a dork."

We kissed again, slowly.

"You know…" Tristan said, keeping me in his arms. "We haven't really properly celebrated your birthday. I actually still need to give you your present."

I felt bad that I legitimately hadn't thought about the fact that he hadn't gotten me anything. "I get a present?"

"Not if you don't want it…" He teased. "Not if all you really need is me."

I laughed. "I mean, I wouldn't want your incredible thoughtfulness to go to waste."

"Right." He agreed. "So, put on a nice shirt. I made us dinner reservations."

I did what he said, and put on a Calvin Klein button-down that I'd gotten months before. Before I knew it, we were out the door.

Tristan lead me down the street, onto the streetcar without hesitation. He didn't say much the whole way there. Every time I asked him where we were going, he just grinned, told me he loved me, and kissed me. I knew he was trying to distract me, and it was working. After a while, I started insisting he tell me, just so he would kiss me again. Before long, we were straight up making out on public transportation. We were never big on that whole modesty thing.

We ended up at this upscale French restaurant downtown. When we walked through the doors, Tristan marched right up to the maitre d', casually leaning against his podium.

"Reservation for Milligan." He said coolly, a smug look on his face. I couldn't help but laugh. I loved when he tried to impress me.

"Of course," The maitre d' said, shooting me a knowing look. "Your meal is nearly ready."

He began leading us to our table, and I noticed he hadn't grabbed any menus. Tristan must have ordered ahead of time. I liked the fact that he had made such a grand plan, and I was dying to know all the details.

"What's going on, Tris?" I asked.

Tristan shrugged coyly. "He's seating us. What else would be going on?"

We approached a table in the corner of the restaurant. The maitre d' pulled my chair out, for me to sit down. As I lowered myself into my seat, I took a good look a round. The place was dimly lit, but not to the point where you couldn't see each other. There were candles on the tables, on top of green linen table cloths. There was no music playing, just the sounds of hushed conversations and silverware clanking on glass. Everything seemed subdued and peaceful, and although I couldn't put my finger on it, something about the space seemed weirdly familiar.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Tristan said as he sat down across from me.

"I'm not thinking anything." I insisted. I honestly hadn't figured out what he was doing, but the endless possibilities excited me.

"You're thinking you're going to have to pay for this." Tristan smirked. The money of it all hadn't yet crossed my mind. I guess it really wasn't an object for me anymore. "I've been saving up my dog sitting money for a year. You're not losing a cent."

And suddenly, I felt bad. I opened my mouth to object, to tell him that I didn't want him doing too much for me. Before I could speak, he interjected.

"Miles. You have to let me do this." He said bluntly, leaning back and crossing his arms, a playful but challenging look in his eye.

Suddenly, a waiter showed up, carrying a cube-shaped box on a silver platter. It was wrapped in glossy white paper, a navy blue ribbon tied around it.

"As per your request," The waiter said to Tristan. Then, he turned to me. "We'll start with a gift."

I stared at the gift for a moment in disbelief before taking it off the platter. Tristan must have come here ahead of time and dropped it off. He was so sneaky.

Tristan nervously beamed at me as the waiter quietly walked away.

"I should open this now…?" I asked, just to confirm. Tristan nodded excitedly.

I slowly untied the ribbon, then lifted the top of the box off. It took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at. Tristan took a deep breath, then began to explain.

"Do you remember? When we were in Paris, and we paired up for that project. And Cliquet gave us, like, four hours to kill?" Tristan's voice seemed strained as he talked. I could tell he'd rehearsed what he was going to say when I opened it, so I just nodded, letting him go on, hanging onto his every word, because I didn't want to interrupt. I wanted to know exactly what he had been planning on saying to me, word for word.

"We ended up wandering; going shop to shop. And there was that one we went into…"

He trailed off, knowing I could finish the rest of the story myself.

It was the first real time he and I spent together. We'd ended up at this little boutique, just to sort of poke around. While he searched for "the perfect blazer," I absentmindedly picked up a pair of leather driving gloves and tried them on. Tristan saw, and laughed at me, making some joke about how the only people who owned driving gloves were "old money." He said they were pretentious, but in the best way possible, and cackled as he posted a picture of me wearing them on Instagram.

"Are these…?" I started to ask, picking the gloves from the box. They were cool and smooth in my hands. I would have never actually bought them in Paris. Now, in context, they were the best thing ever.

"The same gloves?" He answered. "No. I found them in a thrift shop on Queen Street. But I liked them, because they reminded me of that day. They reminded me of you… and the day I really fell for you…"

"Yeah. Um. That was when we had our first kiss." A sad smile came over my face. I remembered how clueless I had been. "I was too dumb to kiss back."

"You've more than made up for it." He said sincerely.

I shook my head. "Tris… I don't know if I ever will."

He reached over the table, and grabbed my hand. "I have you now. Sure, I had to watch you make out with a lot of girls along the way, but I have you now."

"I love you," I told him, meaning it more than I ever had. I was so sorry that I'd ever taken him for granted.

With that, another waiter approached and placed two plates of beautifully garnished foie gras in front of us. Suddenly, I knew what Tristan had wanted to show me.

"This place was the closest thing I could find…" He told me. "…to the place you took me to. The one where we got foie gras for the class… I wanted to bring you somewhere that would remind us both of that first day. And I just want you to know that, whether or not you feel like you wasted time, no memory with you is a bad one, not even when I didn't quite have you. I've loved every minute I've spent with you."

I couldn't believe him. I was overwhelmed; speechless. I knew that what Tristan was trying to say was that the way he loved me was unconditional. Even if I didn't want to be with him, he would keep loving me in whatever way I would have let him. The romance was secondary in our relationship. It was this perk to a deeper, and way more powerful bond. Both of us had fallen in love with the best friend we would ever have, and we were so grateful for that.

"I take it you like all of this." Tristan said after a long moment of baffled silence.

I tried to speak, but choked on my words. I wanted to tell him that I loved all of it. I loved him. I knew the second I opened my mouth, though, I'd start to cry. I knew Tristan could tell, because he held my hand a little tighter.

"Stop. You're gonna make me cry," He warned, fanning his face, and forcing a laugh to try to prevent it.

"Good," I laughed, tears coming to my eyes. "Then I won't be the only dude crying in public."

"…Taking me down with you," He shook his head. "Real mature, Miles."

I laughed again. The mood had lifted significantly, and I felt like I could breath again. He and I just looked at each other. Then, suddenly, I thought about home. I thought about my parents. I don't know what took me out of the moment, but I randomly remembered that my life wasn't perfect. Did I really have a reason to feel as good as I did?

I must have had a reason, because I still felt good. Even though I was thinking about them, I didn't care about what had happened anymore. Tristan and I were together, and we finally had the freedom to live our lives however we pleased. Together. I could wake up next to him every morning if I wanted to.

It was this realization that drove me to say what I said next.

"Move in with me."

Tristan froze. His face slowly fell as he processed what he had heard.

"Excuse me?"

And I wondered if I had made a huge mistake…


	5. Chapter 5

Tristan was watching me, a panicked expression on his face. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the restaurant, probably paranoid that someone had overheard, and was expecting him to jump up excitedly and accept the offer. I swear, I felt like one of those guys in the "failed proposal" videos. I could tell I'd put him on the spot.

My stomach was in my throat. Yes, it was very clear now. I had messed up. There was a time and a place to ask someone to live with you, and this was, apparently, not it.

"I was kidding," I said quickly, picking up my knife and fork and cutting into the tender meat in front of me. "Man, this looks good."

Tristan narrowed his eyes, suspicious as he picked up his own silverware. "You're… kidding?"

I couldn't look him in the eye. I knew the moment I did, it would be all the more obvious that I was lying to him. I continued to praise the meal. Praising the meal seemed safe. "Really. I can't believe you did this. This is perfect."

I took a bite, chewing slowly, and starring down at my plate. I briefly considered impaling myself with my fork, that's how sorry I was that I'd screwed this night up.

"Miles," Tristan said gently. "We can talk about this after dinner, okay? If it's something you seriously want to talk about."

I looked up at him. He gave me a small, uncertain smile. I could tell that, in some sense, he was keeping his mind open. That made me feel only slightly better.

"Yeah. Sure. Sounds good."

The rest of the meal was practically unbearable. We attempted to make conversation as we ate, but the pressure to talk about pleasant, emotionally light things was too much for either of us. The food was good, but I hardly tasted it. I was too busy thinking about what I'd just said; how was I going to explain it to him.

I hadn't been joking, I did want to live with him. I wanted to come home to him at the end of the day. I wanted to take turns making each other dinner. I wanted to fall asleep watching reruns with him every night. I wanted us to have a place of our own. I wanted to fix leaky faucets and paint hallways with him. I wanted to wake up, and put his clothes on by mistake. I wanted us to share everything. He was the only person I wanted to share anything with.

I had thought that he felt the same way. He seemed to love me enough to want that. Now, I wasn't so sure.

After the foie gras, and a dessert of wonderful gourmet cheesecake, Tristan paid the bill, as promised. I tucked my gift box under my arm, and we left, holding hands as we went. He held my hand the whole way back to the hotel, which was comforting. It was as if he was promising that no matter what we talked about tonight, everything was going to be okay.

When we were back in the room, we took our shoes off and hung up our coats in silence. I don't think either of us knew how to re-open the conversation.

Tristan walked over to the bed, and sat down. I figured that was a good place to start; sitting. It made everything seem safer, more… civil? It helped assure me that this wasn't going to turn into an argument. I sat down next to him.

"So…" He said awkwardly. "You want to live together?"

"Look, Tris, I'm sorry," I started spewing out words before I could really put them together. "I thought that it was something we both wanted."

"Of course I want it," Tristan said gently, touching my arm. "You've just never brought it up before."

"Yeah," I was frustrated, because I knew the only issue here was how randomly I'd approached the subject. "I had to ruin a perfect dinner by being an impulsive idiot."

"Stop it," Tristan said quickly, warning me that I was being ridiculous. "Nothing was ruined. I hate that you still beat yourself up over these things."

"I'm not," I said defensively. "I just… I know you wanted it to be perfect."

"It was perfect." He said firmly. "We don't even have to talk about dinner anymore. Let's move ahead, okay?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath. This wasn't an argument. I had to remind myself again. We were going to be okay no matter what.

Tristan continued, "I hate that you're alone here. Seriously, I can't imagine leaving you by yourself. But… that scares me. Do you get that? Before all this happened with your parents…" He trailed off for a second, then regrouped. "I mean, I want to go to college. I know you're not asking me to sacrifice that, but… I guess I'm not sure if you're saying we have to go to the same school now, or… I don't know. What are you really asking me?"

He was asking me a direct question. I wasn't sure I had the direct answer. I started feeling even dumber. I hadn't thought through any of the implications.

So, I told the truth: "I don't know."

Tristan sighed, frustrated. "I just really want to be with you. And I know I'll want to be with you in four years, but… _god_. Living together? Like. How would that work? Would it be temporary?"

"I don't know."

"Would we get a place in Toronto for now, then split up when the time came? Cause that would be really hard."

"I don't know!" I snapped.

"I _know_ you don't know," He said impatiently. "You don't have to know now. I just… I want to work on this. These are questions we _should _know the answer to."

"It could work," I told him, because I knew that much. "I don't have any plans for next year. I could just do whatever you do."

"You mean, go to whatever school I go to?" He asked. "I didn't think either of us wanted to end up at a school we hated, just because one of us wanted to go. I mean, isn't that what we decided?"

"Well, that was when both of us were _going _to college." I said rationally. "It's different now, remember?"

"What? Because you can afford to just sit around the house all day? Miles, you don't want that. You deserve a life. So do I. I want them to include each other, but I don't want either of us feeling like we can't have more than that."

I nodded. He had some really good points, but my heart still felt broken. I truly respected what he wanted, but it still hurt knowing that I didn't fit into his plans as well as he fit into mine.

"I know you don't think you want to go to school, but there are still a lot of places taking applications. I think you should think about finding something. You don't have to do anything your dad would approve of, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do something."

Like that, I was instantly mad at him. I felt kind of attacked. This wasn't a fight, but I was ready to put my fists up.

"Gee, Tristan," I said, frustrated. "You think I don't know that? Do _something. _Obviously, I'm gonna do something."

I stood up, and began walking aimlessly across the room.

"Calm down," He told me quietly. " Look, I know you think that you know what you want…"

"You sound just like my dad!" I snapped, turning back to face him.

Tristan clenched his jaw, staring at the carpet. He had said everything there was to say.

"Some birthday…" I mumbled.

Tristan immediately looked up at me, fire in his eyes. "You haven't ruined this night yet, but if you keep talking, you're gonna get _really _close."

His intensity brought me down a notch. I quickly realized that I had no right to compare him to my father. Tristan genuinely cared about me, and the way he went about expressing his opinions reflected that. I was just getting worked up, like I often did, but Tristan didn't deserve these outbursts.

"I'm sorry." I took a breath. "I… I didn't mean that."

"Maybe I should sleep at home tonight," Tristan tried. "Maybe we both just need a few hours to relax?"

I couldn't think of anything I wanted less. There was no way I'd come even close to relaxing if I thought whatever problems we were having tonight would still exist in the morning. If he left, if he really needed time away from me, it meant that there were delaying things that needed to be worked out. I just couldn't handle that.

"No. Please stay." I rushed over to the bed, and knelt in front of him, placing my hands on his knees. A rush of adrenaline had come over me, and I was prepared to use every bit of energy I had to convince him not to go. "Tris, I'm so sorry. Just stay tonight. I just… I need you tonight, okay?"

Tristan looked down at me, a deep concern in his eyes. I could tell that even though I'd hurt him, he understood that my anger wasn't about him. That was one of the reasons I loved him. He just _got_ things. He slowly leaned forward, taking me in his arms, and pulling my head to his chest.

"Okay," He said, his fingers in my hair. "…Okay."

* * *

It was a quiet night. After Tristan agreed to stay, we turned on the TV, and changed into our pajamas. We didn't talk anymore, because we didn't have anything left to say. We cuddled, and watched talk shows until sometime around midnight, when we remembered we had school in the morning, and decided to turn everything off, and try to sleep.

I'm not sure how long I was laying there, staring at the ceiling. I listened to the hum of the fan that blew warm air into the room. I stared at the blinking light on the smoke detector. I got annoyed by every pair of footsteps I heard pass our door. I thought about the fight we'd just had, the one that wasn't supposed to be a fight. Even though we'd put it to rest, we still hadn't resolved it. That was killing me.

I rolled onto my side, and looked at Tristan, who was curled up on his side. His eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open slightly. I could tell by the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn't quite asleep yet, so I reached over and lightly touched his face. He inhaled sharply. His eyes flickered open. After looking at me for only a moment, it was clear that he understood exactly what I needed.

I needed to feel closer to him.

Without speaking, he gently draped an arm over me, pulling himself closer to me. Tristan gave me a sad smile, and gently rested his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on my face. Our mouths gradually came together in a slow, wet kiss.

We began removing our clothes in fluid motions that came so naturally, because we'd done this together so many times before. As we continued, and our bare bodies pressed together as we kissed, I got the reassurance that I needed. Nothing could ever break the connection we had, not even having separate addresses for the rest of our lives.

* * *

My grandmother called me around seven the next morning, just as Tristan and I were getting ready to head out. We were sitting on the bed, devouring the last bits of the poached eggs and toast we'd ordered from room service, when my phone started going off.

"Hey," I answered carelessly, wiping my hands on my linen napkin. "What's up?"

"Listen, Miles, I've spoken to my friend Gloria," She started. Then, catching herself, she asked, "Is this a bad time? You're not in class yet, are you?"

"Wouldn't have answered my phone if I was." I teased, carrying my phone to the bathroom so I could comb my hair while I talked.

She sighed, only mildly frustrated by my smart-ass reply.

"I've spoken to my friend Gloria," She repeated. "You remember her? Wears a lot of gaudy jewelry… Used to come with me to take your sister to the ballet…"

I couldn't put the face with the name. Grandma had a lot of friends with gaudy jewelry. I had a vague idea of who she was talking about, though, and I didn't want to complicate things. "Oh. Yeah. Sure."

"Well, she's selling real estate now," As she explained herself, I quickly picked my thick plastic comb from the counter, wet it, and ran it through my hair. "She has an opening in her schedule today at four. Are you busy?"

I didn't even have to think about it. I was never busy. "The sooner I get out of this hotel, the better." I shook my comb off and set it back down.

"You could have stayed with me," She huffed obligatorily.

"I know. It was nice to have a mini vacation, though." I told her, walking out of the bathroom and giving Tristan a knowing grin. After our heated encounter after lights-out the previous night, I was feeling more secure with our relationship than I had in weeks. Tristan dangerously grinned back. The look in his eyes alone almost made me want to throw myself at him again, but then I remembered I was on the phone with my grandmother.

She must have heard something in my voice, because she said, in a hushed tone, "Well, you tell Tristan I say hello."

I laughed, embarrassed. "Okay, Grandma."

"Four O'Clock," She reminded me. "I'll text you the address."

After we hung up, I walked over and sat down next to Tristan. I took his face in both hands, and kissed him hard and passionately. As I pulled away, he raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

"Well, if you want to be late for school…" He agreed suggestively.

I knew I had to stop myself. First period wasn't going to pass itself. I took a deep breath, hesitantly lifting myself off of the bed. "You're right."

"I didn't say I was opposed to being late!" He played.

I shook my head, laughing. I had to change the subject before I lost it.

"So, do you want to go house hunting with Grandma after school?" I asked him, gathering my book bag from the desk. "I mean, I know you're not going to live with me, but I want you to like what I get. I mean, you'll still probably spend a lot of time there, right?"

"Right." He smiled pleasantly, probably relieved that he wouldn't have to reassure me. "But I have a one-on-one with Dillon tonight."

"Ah, should I be jealous?"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "He apparently has big ideas for the character. He says he chose me for my potential, and really wants to get something out of me."

I knew what he meant, but I wanted to be difficult. "So, I should be jealous."

"Stop!" He protested. "He's totally straight."

"So was I…" I reminded him.

He cackled. "Good point. But fortunately, I'm not into him like I was into you."

"Obviously," I shrugged cockily.

Tristan stood up, and came to meet me across the room, slipping his arms around my waist, and pulling me in for another kiss.

"You know you're the only one I want to have one-on-ones with." He told me.

We kissed.

"We really have to go to school," I warned.

He shook his head, kissing me again.

"We've got time."

And I knew there was no arguing with him. I was going to be late again whether I liked it or not.

* * *

"The building was renovated just last year…"

Gloria-the-realtor's hips swayed back and forth as she lead Grandma and I down a long, dimly-lit hallway. For a woman in her seventies, she still handled herself very well in high heels.

"Everything's brand new, you know… state of the art," She was going on. "I know young people like that. You'll see a lot of yuppies in this building."

I nodded seriously, observing my surroundings, trying to get a real feel for the space. Nothing was screaming to me, "this is home." Then again, we hadn't even entered the actual condo yet, so it was possible that I was jumping too quickly to conclusions.

Gloria came to a door at the end of the hall, and slipped a key into the lock.

"Let's see if this is what you're looking for." She pushed the door open, and lead me inside, flicking the lights on as she went.

I was standing in this massive, unfurnished room. The open kitchen, equipped with sturdy-looking stainless steel appliances and a sprawling island with a creme-colored marble countertop. A large picture window spanned the back of the room, giving me what should have seemed like a flawless view of the lake. At the side of the room, a pairing of tall, oak doors lead to god-knows-where. I was overwhelmed, to say the least.

"It's…" I struggled for words. "It's kind of big."

Gloria tried to reason with me. "It's one bedroom."

I shook my head. That didn't seem to matter in this case.

"With your budget, we didn't think you'd want to feel claustrophobic," Grandma explained to me. It occurred to me that the two of them had probably spent the entire day talking about the kinds of places they'd show me.

"It's only about twenty minutes from your school, in traffic," Gloria jumped back in.

"Yeah," Grandma nodded enthusiastically. "We figured you'd have a car soon."

"Well, Degrassi's a public school," I reminded her. "Is this even in the right school district?"

"You have, what? One semester left?" My grandma said. "I hardly think it matters…"

"We'll check." Gloria promised quickly.

I nodded, figuring they were trying their best to accommodate me. I was grateful for their help, and giving the condo a chance was the least I could do. I went to the middle of the room, and turned around a couple times, trying to figure out if there was something to this place that I was missing. There wasn't.

To be honest, I had the same problem with this condo that I had with the hotel. It seemed fake. It felt impersonal. Maybe if it had seemed like a place I could make my own, I wouldn't have a problem with the fact that it was so far from Tristan. Maybe I would have felt like Tristan would love it enough not to mind the commute.

"No." I told Gloria simply. "No, this isn't it."

Gloria nodded understandingly. I was sure she was used to this kind of rejection, and I was impressed that she didn't let it affect her confidence. "There's a high rise about a block over I'd like to take a look at, then."

I cringed. The idea of a "high rise" could not sound less appealing. I realized that one of the things that turned me off was the fact that these spaces were simply stacked on top of each other. Maybe they only felt impersonal because they were so clearly mass produced.

"Can we look at houses?" I asked quickly, cutting them off. "Like. Real houses. Near school?"

My grandma skeptically pursed her lips. "Do you really want to live in a house all by yourself?"

"What's the difference?" I asked shortly.

"I mean, the security here is excellent. You'd have a doorman. You'd have people to, I don't know… interact with in an emergency!"

I shook my head. "I can dial 911 if there's an emergency. And I'd still have neighbors."

Grandma and Gloria exchanged hesitant looks.

"Well," Gloria said slowly, the defeat finally beginning to show on her face. "I don't really know any properties in that area. But I can certainly look into it."

After that, the three of us went back downstairs, and climbed back into Grandma's town car. We'd all been traveling together, and her driver was going to drop both of us off on her way home.

As Grandma was slipping into the seat next to me, she leaned over, whispered, "Good boy. Hold out for the right one," and squeezed my hand.

It was nice to have her encouragement, but I still felt kind of uneasy over the fact that I had wasted an afternoon. I spent the rest of the ride wrapped up in my concerns. What if I never found a place I liked? What if the houses Gloria ended up showing me were just bigger, stand-alone versions of the condo, empty and colorless? What if she ended up being completely incompetent, didn't listen to me at all, and made sure I felt lonely and isolated my entire life?

We pulled up to the hotel, and I kissed Grandma on the cheek before jumping out of the car. As I watched them drive away, I decided that I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.

I still didn't have a computer. I'd been using the school ones during study hall for the absolutely important stuff, but other than that, I was making do with my phone. Fortunately, my Dad hadn't thought to turn it off. When I got back to the suite, I pulled it out and began searching real estate listings.

Nothing was really jumping out at me. Then again, it was hard to get a good look at the pictures on the tiny screen. Even so, taking control like that, and being able to explore my options more independently made me feel free.

"Oh my god," Tristan barged in around seven-thirty, struggling to catch is breath. "First of all, it started to snow." He dropped a stuffed duffel bag on the floor near the bathroom, then quickly took his coat off, shaking the snow off. "Second of all, I stopped at home, and my _mother _was there."

I eyed the duffel bag skeptically. "You got enough stuff there?"

"Seriously," Tristan laughed. "Did you two talk? Did you agree on what you were going to say?" He came over to the bed, and climbed up next to me, giving me a quick kiss between leaning on the pillows. "She asked me if I was running away. Asked me who I _killed_."

I laughed out loud. The bag was still intriguing me. "I mean, for someone who doesn't want to live together…" I started.

He interrupted. "Miles, you're far from settled yet."

"Right…"

He stroked my hair, and finished simply, "I don't want to leave you right now, and like you said this morning, I'm enjoying our little vacation."

I smiled warmly. It was a good enough explanation, even though I knew in my gut that the longer we stayed together, the harder it would be to split up.

Tristan kissed me on the cheek, then rested his head on my shoulder, getting a good glimpse at my phone screen. "Real estate? I thought you had a guru for that?"

I sighed. "Yeah, well, she's a little high-end for my taste."

"You want to live like the people live." He nodded. "I can respect that. Wanna look at these on my computer?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."

Once we were on the bigger screen, I became far more optimistic. I realized I was looking at pictures of the kinds of places I'd always been jealous of; the kinds of places my friends lived in.

"Look at that!" Tristan kept reading listings out loud. "Two bedrooms. Deck in the back… there's a fireplace. Do you want a fireplace?"

I shrugged, laughing. "I don't know. Would I ever use it?"

"It might be nice!" Tristan reasoned. "I mean, isn't that supposed to be totally romantic? snuggling next to the fire place?"

With that, I felt a twinge of pain. I found it a little cruel that he was teasing me like that. What good would a romantic fire place do if he was away at college?

"Whatever…" He finally said, sensing that I wasn't feeling it. "Go to the next one."

"Oh. A foreclosure." He read carefully, narrowing his eyes to get a better loo at the picture. "Built in 1928. It sounds haunted."

"It's not _haunted_." I laughed, getting a good look at the small, gothic house. "It actually looks kind of cool."

"Okay…" Tristan said, clicking a button in the top corner of his browser. "I'm bookmarking this one."

"No. Wait. Stay on the page," I urged him, wanting to get a better look. I pulled the computer out of his lap and into my own, clicking on the "see more pictures" link.

The house needed work. The carpets were dingy. The paint was chipped. Even cleaned up, it wouldn't be terribly impressive. It was small. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. No yard. But there was something inexplicably _nice_ about it. There were little features that popped out at me, things like frosted windows in the bathroom and bad 70s wallpaper in the kitchen. The house seemed full of personality. Unfortunately, though, the pictures were limited. Only one of the bedrooms was featured in the line up.

"Where's the rest of it?" I asked.

"I guess they want you to see it in person." Tristan shrugged.

I nodded, and clicked the "back" button so we could look at other listings.

"Why don't we go now?" Tristan joked. "It's a foreclosure. No one would know."

I laughed. "You got a crowbar?"

Tristan laughed too. "No, but Owen did teach me to pick locks when I was eleven."

"Wait, seriously?" I loved finding out new things about him.

"Seriously!" Tristan shrugged. "I got pretty good at it, actually."

Our laughter died down a bit, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing. It would be really freaking cool to break into an old, abandoned house.

"Do you think…?" I started.

"I couldn't…" Tristan smirked.

"Right. You're right." I tried to convince myself.

We sat in silence for a moment longer.

"But, I mean…" He spoke again. "If you have a realtor take you, and you don't like it, you'd probably feel really bad for wasting their time."

He was full of crap. We both knew it, and neither of us cared. In unison, we shoved the laptop off of us, and leapt off the bed, scrambling for our coats.

"We'll to need to stop at an office supplies store." He said excitedly.

"Have I mentioned how awesome you are?" I asked back.

He shrugged. "Once or twice. Come on, let's go."

And then we were off.

* * *

The floorboards creaked loudly as we entered the foyer of the old house.

"Shh!" I glanced around, paranoid, my eyes still adjusting to the darkness.

"What?!" Tristan held his phone up in front of us, the flashlight app activated.

I wasn't sure why the noise bothered me so much, so I spat out the first explanation I could think of. "…They'll hear you."

"Who? The neighbors?" Tristan droned sarcastically. "I don't think we're _that _loud."

Another creak.

"Shhhh!" I grabbed onto his arm, and we lost ourselves in a fit of laughter.

"What!?" He cried again. "You are such a freak."

"I feel like we're in _The Walking Dead_."

Tristan clutched my arm tighter. "Well, I might not be a zombie hunter, but I played one in a film once. I think you're safe with me."

I grinned, and kissed him on the cheek. He was so adorable when he got all protective. He continued shining the light, but it only reached so far. I think both of us understood that seeing the house at night wouldn't truly allow us a good look, but the novelty of our excursion made up for that.

We finally came to a narrow staircase, which was wedged between two walls so that, from the right angle, it didn't even look like it existed.

"You go up first," He whispered, putting a hand on my back to guid me. I kept a hand on each wall, and climbed slowly, Tristan's light shining at my feet so I wouldn't miss a step. The stairs creaked too, I noticed, but I was starting to not mind.

When we got to the top, I realized that it was a lot easier to see. We were at the same level as the street lights now, and the light was pouring in from outside. The second story was just one room. The ceiling was vaulted, so we could only stand up all the way in the center of it. At the end of the room, a large, half-circle window gave us a view out the front of the house. Naturally, the window had a window seat, and custom-built shelves, triangular like the edges of the room, were erected on either side of it.

Neither of us spoke. We stepped away from each other, each of us sizing the room up on our own. I analyzed every detail. The floor was covered in matted shag carpeting, but I wondered if there were hard wood floors underneath. I could tear it up, and then put down a woven rug, so my feet wouldn't get too cold in the winter. I imagined the whole room cleaned up, my favorite things on display on the shelves: books, movies, pictures of Tristan…

He approached the shelves himself. He placed a hand on the side of one, and climbed up onto the window seat. As he knelt in front of the window, I heard a soft laugh of disbelief escape his lips.

I crossed my arms, stopping in the middle of the room to just watch him. There he was, staring out the window, watching the snow come down like a child experiencing their first white Christmas. My heart swelled, because I realized that this space was somehow having the same effect on him that it was on me. Something magical was happening. This was our house.

"It's a wonderful life." He said quietly.

"That it is," I breathed, half-convinced that he would give up everything and emotionally agree to live here with me.

"No," He shook his head, and I was confused for a moment as to why he was suddenly disagreeing with me. "The movie, _It's A Wonderful Life. _You remember that scene, where they walk past their future house, and throw rocks at the window to get a wish?"

I shook my head. I hadn't seen it.

Tristan sighed, defeated, and looked sadly around the room one last time. "I guess it's not important. This just… reminds me of that, I guess."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just stepped toward him and kissed him. He hesitated a little, and pulled away.

"Um… do you mind if we get out of here?" Tristan asked. "This place is starting to give me the creeps. I think it might actually be haunted."

The way he said it, though, I could tell he didn't mean it. I knew the real reason he wanted to leave was that he was getting attached to the house, and the thought of us living there, and wanted to stop himself before he second-guessed everything he'd said the night before. I know I should have found this encouraging, but I could tell he was starting to get really torn up about it, and I hated that I was the cause of that.

"Yeah. Let's go." I said, and we started back down the stairs.

That night, as usual, Tristan fell asleep before I did. Curious, I tried to find _It's A Wonderful Life _on the internet. All I found was a summary and some youtube clips, but that was enough to get the general idea. Apparently, the movie was about this guy named George Bailey who gives up his lifelong dream of traveling the world to stay at home and take care of the people he cares about. Things start going really badly for him, so he decides to off himself. Then, an angel comes and saves his life by showing him what the world would be like without him. It turns out it would be a really crappy place, and that his life has meaning because he devoted it to others…

I realized Tristan was kind of like George Bailey, making sacrifice after sacrifice so he would never have to leave my side, and while part of me was optimistic that he'd make the same discovery George did, and realize I was worth it, the other part of me knew that I couldn't count on a perfect movie ending. If Tristan was ever unhappy, it was safe to bet a guardian angel wouldn't swoop down to save him. It was possible that him staying would end very badly for both of us.

And yet, I still wanted him to live in that house with me, and I felt horribly, horribly guilty about that.


End file.
